


Bite Me Already

by Catchclaw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Schmoop, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's only one thing Dean likes about Valentine's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bite Me Already

"Oh, hey!" Dean chirped. "I love these things."

Such a statement wasn't strange in and of itself; hell, Dean proclaimed his love for shit all the time: his music, his movies, his hair.

But it was kind of a strange thing to say in the middle of a vampire nest, especially when they both had fangs at their throat and frankly, Sam was too busy trying not to fucking die to pay all that much attention to this particular trumpet from the summit of Mount Dean.

When it was over, when they were knee deep in dead vamp and flop sweat, Sam was horrified to see Dean scooping brightly-colored somethings--was that candy?-- off the goddamn gory floor and jamming them into his mouth.

"Dean!" 

"What?" Dean said, holding out the bag of conversation hearts, all _Kiss Me_  and _Miss You_. "Dude. You want some?"

"Ew!" Sam hissed. "No! That's disgusting!"

"Why? Bag was still closed. Chuckles here"--he booted a headless sack of flannel--"had 'em stashed in his pocket."

Sam just groaned and made for the door, anxious for sunshine and fresh air.

"Besides," Dean said later. "Valentine's Day is bullshit, anyway."

Sam rolled his eyes around a mouthful of four-cheese supreme. 

"What? You know I'm right, man. It's a day freaking designed to make you feel shitty about yourself, no matter what your 'relationship status' is or whatever."

"Well," Sam said, considering. "It does underscore the dominant nature of the heterosexist paradigm in this country. You know."

Dean made a face. "Ugh. Whatever. I hope that's college boy speak for 'you're right, Dean, it totally sucks.'" He leaned over the napkins and snagged his damn bag of hearts. "But these babies, Sammy? Are the only redeeming quality of this stupid holiday."

Sam watched him crunch enthusiastically through a handful of _I LV U_ and _You & Me_, bits of pink and purple and white going every which way.

"Don't get that shit in the sheets, Dean," he grumped, reaching for the remote.

Dean ignored him and Sam woke up with _Call Me_ stuck to his forehead.

"You're a dick," Sam shouted at the shower curtain.

"Love you too, princess," Dean sang from under the spray.

They made it to Iowa by nightfall and he made the mistake of leaving Dean to his own devices in the grocery store, turned his back only to find Dean dumping two dozen little boxes of the stupid things into the cart.

"What?" Dean said, his mouth full of  _Choose Me_ and _Be Mine_. "These things are delicious, Sam."

Sam scowled and stomped off towards the bananas.

Dean brought four boxes with him to the brokeback farmhouse in Ames where they waited out the night with iron and salt in tow, ready for the local spirit to tag back in to the earthly plane.

He carefully picked out the yellow ones--"They taste like banana ass, Sam. Hey, you want some?"--and flung them one by one at some basketball hoop in the hay that only he could see.

"You know," he sighed around three. "I just don't get it. Why we need a single day when everyone can, like, perform their happiness or whatever."

Sam frowned at his book. "Huh?"

"Valentine's," Dean said, patient, like he'd caught Sam eating paste. "You know, red hearts and roses and shit."

"Oh for fuck's--I know what Valentine's Day is, jackass!"

"Right. So you see my point. Why does the world demand that we all be happy in our lovedom or whatever all on a single day? What if you're perfectly happy on all the other ones but like you wake up on the 14th in a bad mood, or you're allergic to chocolate, or you think roses are kind of dumb and you don't want your boyfriend to waste money on--"

Sam threw up his hands. "What the hell is with you?" he bellowed. "Why are we still talking about this?"

"What?" Dean said, squinting over in the crap light. "Come on, man, I was just--" His voice caught and he looked away. Crumpled the last empty box under his boot and jammed his fists in his pockets.

"Yeah. Never mind. Just trying to make conversation here, Sammy. God forbid we talk to each other or something."

"You two need couples counseling," the ghost said helpfully, swinging a spectral hand over Sam's head. "Trust me, fellas. I know."

Dean sulked all the way to Nebraska, and Sam was pretty sure it didn't have a damn thing to do with the bruised ribs the ghost had left behind.

"I'm fine," Dean snapped when he asked, throwing  _I'm Yours_ at his head. "Stop hovering."

"Sure you are," Sam said to the windshield. "Right."

**

In Lincoln, Sam disappeared for a few hours. Left Dean on his own at a coffee shop--"Your kinda place, Sammy," he whined. "Not mine"--and it wasn't that Dean was worried, exactly, because Sam was a grown-ass man and so was Dean and it wouldn't kill them to spend some time apart, right? 

But there were couples freaking everywhere he turned.

Making out over lattes and reading over each other's shoulder and passing flowers and stuffed bears across sticky cafe tables and fuck, that was so cheesy that it made Dean's chest a little tight, made him grit his teeth and bite his tongue and bury himself in the crosswords book he'd stolen from Barnes and Noble.

Stupid Valentine's Day. Stupid romance or whatever. Stupid love.

He jammed the book in his jacket and stomped around outside, which was even less productive than it sounds because it was cold as shit and he didn't have gloves and by the time Sam showed up, Dean was freezing and hungry and pissed and he took it out on Sammy, bam, right away, especially when Sam turned them into the city and away from Dean's favorite motel in all of Nebraska--a sea theme, kinda like Little Mermaid with a pornographic edge--and refused to tell Dean where the fuck they were going already.

"Goddamn it!" Dean shouted. "Sam! What the fuck, man? This isn't funny."

"Dude," Sam sighed. "Just shut up and let me drive, ok?"

Dean growled and shot daggers at Sam's smile. Crossed his arms and basically pouted all the way to the Marriott.

"The  _Marriott_?" he squeaked as Sam towed him through the lobby. "Fuck. We yuppies now?"

Sam yanked him into the elevator and pushed 16. 

In the room, he was just as bossy.

"Take a shower," he ordered, shoving Dean into the (ok, amazing) bathroom. "You smell like coffee grounds."

"Well," Dean huffed, token resistance. "You smell like--"

Sam slammed the door in his face.

Bitchy Sam or no, there was, Dean decided, no use in letting the shower gel and hot water and fluffy-as-fuck towels go to waste. 

When he came out, pink and smelling like a pinecone, the bathroom door wouldn't open.

"Um," he said, tugging the complementary robe a little tighter. "Sam?"

The handle turned.

"Yeah," Sam said just beyond. "Come on in."

Dean slipped out of the steam and into--

Candlelight.

Music.

 _Moody Blues_ , his brain said, the part that wasn't screaming _WTF_?

And--

"Sam," he said, strangled. "Are those--rose petals?"

Sam touched his face. Tender. So gentle that Dean's eyes went soft as they watched Sam drag him in.

"Yeah," Sam said, sliding his smile over Dean's jaw. "They are."

"Oh," Dean managed. "Um."

His head fell back as Sam's mouth found his throat, and he flailed a little. Got his hands tangled in the Samlocks and sighed. Shivered as Sam shoved a hand under his collar, long fingers pressed between skin and terrycloth.

"We should have done this a long time ago," Sam whispered. "Dean."

When they kissed, it was messy and eager. Needy as hell and sweet. 

"So sweet for me," Sam groaned, mouthing the words into Dean's thighs. "Aren't you, baby?"

"God yes," Dean sighed, shifting his hips and shoving at Sam's head. "Sammy. Come on  _Sammy_ please--"

He came tangled in the sleeves of his robe and in Sammy's strong arms and with a sound that overwhelmed even the Moody Blues.

" _Nights in White Satin_ , Sam?" he said, later, plucking petals off his brother's skin. "Really?"

"Hey, I didn't hear you complaining," Sam smirked, spearing his fingers through Dean's hair. "Not the first time. Or the second."

"What can I say? My cock has terrible taste in music, man."

Sam snorted and rolled off the bed, the candlelight doing all kinds of amazing things to his skin.

"Goddamn," Dean said, a little louder than he meant to. "Naked's a good look for you, dude."

Sam slid back across the sheets, blushing, like he hadn't just sucked his brother senseless and come like a freight train tucked tight between Dean's legs.

"Um," he said, ducking his head. "Here."

He spilled a handful of candy hearts over Dean's chest, pink and purple and white. 

Dean grinned. Picked up the first one he touched. 

" _Bite Me_ ," he read.

Sam growled and shot his head down.

"Ah ah," Dean chided, tapping the heart on Sam's teeth. "Gotta eat it  first."

"You're a dick," Sam said around his fingers. But he chewed.

"Love you too, princess," Dean hummed, tipping his head back. "Now come on. Bite me already."

The other hearts fell by the wayside, crushed fine on the petals under Sam's hands, behind Dean's head, and in the morning, it looked like Hallmark had exploded in their bed.

"I love you," Dean said in the elevator, his eyes locked on the numbers overhead.

"Yeah," Sam said, tugging him close as the floors counted down. "I know."


End file.
